


apilado

by frostmantle



Series: sagaciously salacious [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Garlean Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), established relationship fluff because i'm trash, if you think i won't lampshade the fact this is a late valentione's day fic, local garleans fuck rather than discuss their feelings for five minutes, porn but also fluff, prurient use of office furniture, so on brand for me basically, well wow are you ever wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22732852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmantle/pseuds/frostmantle
Summary: It's Valentione's Day somewhere on the star.
Relationships: Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light
Series: sagaciously salacious [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1392652
Comments: 30
Kudos: 74





	apilado

**Author's Note:**

> listen, i know what i am

The sun hung low in the western sky when the Warrior of Light arrived at her home in the Beds.

The house was empty when she let herself inside, but the scents of cooking wafted into her nose as soon as she opened the door: meat, gravy, fresh-baked bread. Aurelia unfastened the simple clasps and buckles that bound her gunblade to her back and set it carefully by the front door alongside her cane, then removed her heavy gloves and outer utility belt to stretch her spine like a cat’s, yawning and wincing as her shoulders popped. 

There wasn’t anyone in the kitchen, but there was a loaf of crusty bread recently baked. It sat in a basket on the small lip of countertop next to the stove, where a stewpot simmered. 

“So much for surprising you with dinner,” a voice echoed at her back, from the hallway. Nero leaned against the threshold between the kitchen and the hallway entrance, looking as carelessly handsome in crimson as he ever did. “I wasn’t expecting you back until later tonight.”

The only people who’d known she had any plans to return to Gridania from Mor Dhona at all were Arenvald and Tataru. She sighed at him, with a sort of exasperated tolerance.

“You promised me you’d stop listening in on official communication frequencies.”

“I said I would limit myself to _important matters only_ \- which I believe was _your_ stipulation. And if you must know, I consider news of your impending return to be an important matter.”

“Oh?” She warmed to his sidewise admission, despite herself. “Well, that’s very sw-”

“Who _else_ can I trust to assist me with field testing my creations?”

Aurelia scoffed out a short laugh and gave him a jab in the side with one elbow. “Good to know you find me useful, I suppose.”

“Useful is a good way to- _hello_.” She blinked. His sharp gaze was fixed upon- actually, what _was_ he looking at? “Since when did you start wearing this, or have my powers of observation finally failed me?”

Oh. “Since I started training to use a gunblade.”

“You could have asked me, were you _that_ curious.”

“It’s not Garlean-style swordsmanship.” She put some distance between them to lean against the unused countertop as if checking on the contents of the large stewpot. Mutton, with rough-cut potatoes, carrots, and parsnips, cloves of garlic and various other herbs reducing in a thick gravy. Typical Ilsabardian country fare: simple but hearty. “...I’m learning the art from a Hrothgar mercenary. Radovan is…” 

“Radovan?”

She cleared her throat. “Radovan is from Bozja.”

“Ah,” and there was a wealth of implication in that response neither of them wished to address. “Any reason you prefer the Bozjan style?”

Aurelia shrugged uncomfortably, picking invisible bits of lint out of a nearby kitchen towel and averting her eyes. After a long and awkward pause and the soft sound of bare feet against the floor, his hand came to rest on her back. 

“All right,” he began, “where did I misstep?”

“It’s… you haven’t done anything wrong. I just…” She took a deep breath. “Cid doesn’t have good memories of Bozja.”

“Garlond’s memories have naught to do with you or me, and as _obnoxiously_ good-natured as he is you should already know he’d never hold it against you.”

“I also... didn’t want _you_ to think less of me,” she admitted. “I’ve always struggled with the gunblade, you see, and-”

“Struggle with a _martial_ art? _You?_ ”

“Didn’t I tell you? I tried using one once, during basic. It was too heavy for me to lift and I was too nervous and the shot went wild. Knocked me flat on my arse. I’ve not attempted it since.”

“...You didn’t actually think I was going to _laugh_ at you, did you?” She stared down at the countertop. Once he realized no answer would be forthcoming, he wrapped his arms about her and rested his cheek on the crown of her head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but ‘tis a comfort, on occasion, to know you aren’t _actually_ brilliant at everything you touch. Sometimes it’s downright galling.”

"Nero, that's...”

“This star doesn’t bloody well need _two_ Cidolfus Garlonds. Can you even _imagine?"_

That one earned him another jab in the ribs.

“At any rate,” he continued, “this new look of yours.”

“What about it?”

“Mm.” His hands slipped over her cropped jacket and tunic to brace her waist, then settled low on her hips. “...Not overfond of the lack of color, but I shan’t deny I rather enjoy the aesthetic.”

Aurelia jumped at the sensation of blunt fingernails dragging slow and careful paths along that small patch of exposed skin on the backs of her thighs, just below the curve of her buttocks. “One would think,” her hand fisted in the towel she’d been worrying in an effort to keep her breathing measured, “you had never seen a woman in shorts before.”

“Of _course_ I have. None of them were you.”

She laughed. “Flattery-”

“Will get me _everywhere_.” His effervescent - and occasionally infuriating - grin had returned in force. “So I shall fondly hope.”

He tilted her chin upwards for a slow and languorous kiss. She hummed against his mouth, relaxed and content- until the moment his hands grasped her backside and squeezed, firmly. 

“Nero,” she gasped, “not in the _kitchen!_ ”

“No? I’m fair certain there’s a bottle of olive oil in the pantry if needs must-” His eyes were alight with mirth, and his grin broke into a peal of delighted laughter at the embarrassed scowl that crossed her features. “...A _jest_ , sweetling! ‘Twas only a jest.”

“Made in _remarkably_ poor taste,” Aurelia grumbled as he continued to laugh. “And the stew is-”

Those hands slipped a few ilms upwards to worry at the waistband of her bottoms, and she felt her protest die on her lips. “Not going to be ready for another half-bell at least.” 

She stilled his hands and pushed herself up from the countertop to give herself space, so she could turn around while still resting in his embrace. He allowed it, as he usually did when she was gone for long stretches of time, and she took the opportunity to rest her cheek against his chest and breathe him in. There was the faint scent of machine oil as always, and atop that was coffee and aftershave, a fresh scent that made her think of Coerthan spruce trees.

His thumbs pressed very gently along the curve of her hips, tracing the outline of them through the heavy fabric, sliding carefully and intimately beneath leather straps and steel buckles. Svelte frame or not, Nero Scaeva was a tall and imposing man; his hands and their long, deft fingers easily spanned her waist. She could feel the warmth of his palms along her flanks, still caressing that sensitive patch of skin high on her thighs. 

Aurelia swallowed, heat settling low in her belly.

“Not in here,” she repeated. The words fell heavy from a tongue that felt suddenly very thick. “I mean it. The bedroom-”

“Too far.” His hands found their way under the waistband and beneath her smalls, to cup her buttocks, and this time she did gasp aloud. He stifled it with a kiss, murmuring, “Workshop’s just down the hall.”

“Oh, Nero, but your _schematics-_ ”

“It’ll be worth it,” and with that she found herself hoisted in the air. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep herself from falling. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to speak; she could hear how quickly his heart was thumping in his chest and caught the rasp of his breath in her ear, shallow and uneven. They’d barely rounded the corner to the hallway when he pressed her back against the first available expanse of wall surface and kissed her again, this time fierce and wanting. His hips canted upwards to grind against hers, and Aurelia understood the reason for his sudden impatience.

“Put me down,” she whispered against his mouth. 

Nero’s grip relaxed enough to let her feet drop back to the ground, though he didn’t release her nor did he stop kissing her. Hastily she kicked off her boots while her hands fumbled at the buckles that bound the heavy leather kecks over her legs; once she was divested of that it would just be the short bottoms and the long woolen stockings she wore beneath- but it was slow going all the same. 

“Hells,” he grumbled, “at this rate we’ll not make it down the bloody hallway.”

“Cid would see it done.”

The sheer _consternation_ that spread across Nero’s face at her retort was so utterly comical that Aurelia was unable to resist the urge to laugh. 

She paid the price for her teasing almost immediately when he let out a growl and shoved her against the wall, then dropped to his knees. His fingers labored swiftly and ungently at unfastening the clasps that ran down the outer seams, all but ripping them open, and without pause he pulled the protective garment away to toss in the same direction as her boots.

Still chuckling, Aurelia moved to reach for him-- and found herself rebuffed. 

His hand caught her wrist and pulled it away from his hair to slam against the wall, pinning it in place until it was clear he meant for her to leave it there while his left hand worked the buttons at her waist. The denim fabric gave much more easily beneath his deceptive strength, and her eyes flared wide when he hooked his fingers in shorts and smallclothes both only to yank them down to her ankles, leaving her completely exposed.

Nero grasped her right leg, still encased in its heavy stocking, and lifted. She had to grab at his shoulders to avoid falling, and by the time she’d corrected her balance he had draped her right knee over his shoulder. 

She sighed at the warm kiss he planted on her inner thigh just at the seam of her stocking, then hissed out her next breath when he sank his teeth into sensitive flesh. It left her writhing against the wall in a halfhearted and largely unsuccessful effort to free herself from his grasp as he made his unhurried way upwards, which left her subjected to the same painfully pleasant sensation each time he repeated the process. His mouth made a trail of blooming red marks along her thigh in its wake, the curve of his strong jaw grazing her with the slight and stinging rasp of red-gold stubble with each bite- and his journey came to an abrupt stop a scant ilm or two from the cap of dark golden curls that shielded her mons. 

The damp heat of his breath fanned gently against her belly, and something in her spine curled in heady anticipation. Slowly he dragged the tip of his index finger along the seam of her folds: a light and feathery caress that was nonetheless quite calculated. 

Aurelia groaned aloud.

“I should torment you like this more often,” his voice was a low and feral rasp as he replaced his index finger with his thumbs, stroking plush and swollen softness, spreading her open with a combination of careful deliberation and obvious relish. 

The initial slide of his tongue was as devastating as it was precise: a white-hot jolt of pleasure that sent molten sparks hissing through her veins. Her back snapped into an arch but his hands held her fast, kept her positioned the way he wanted. Unable to dislodge him, she let her head fell back against the wall with a graceless thump, hands gathering in silken skeins of platinum, and the roughness of his cheeks bristled against tender flesh as he feasted upon her.

 _“Gods,”_ she gasped, jaw slack and chest heaving. The tip of his tongue flicked against her clit at the apex of each stroke, a light and insolent touch. Just enough to build upon that fire little by little, to leave her raw and burning and desperate for more. “Nero, _please--_ ”

The only response she received was a soft and derisive laugh, muffled between her legs. Her hips twitched against the cage of his grasp, moving upon instinct rather than any cogent thought. A throbbing ache she knew well settled into her core, everything within and without feeling as though the flesh was transforming into molten brass. It was a matter of time before- 

-he withdrew, left her stepping that razor’s edge just before release. Calmly he rocked back on his heels, smirking up at her, mouth still glistening from his self-indulgence. 

She stared incredulously down at him, heart pounding and flushed from head to shoulders.

_“You-”_

Before she could protest further, he lifted her into a bridal carry and nudged the workshop door open with his foot. 

A broad sweep of his arm made space upon the nearby drafting table, set low until he was ready to use it again. She half-expected him to seat her, but instead he set her back down upon legs that still trembled. His mouth found hers again, briefly returning to her the taste of her own slick before he broke away with a soft and unsteady exhalation.

“That was for bringing Garlond into it,” he said. “Turn around. Hands on the table.”

Curt, direct, the delivery flat and sharp. Extremely suited to the tribunus he had once been. 

She shrugged off her jacket, let it fall to the floor alongside spare books and the odd trimmings of discarded solder, and leaned forward to brace her weight. The varnished wooden surface was cool to the touch but began to warm quickly enough beneath her palms. Waiting for him she trembled in place, her senses acutely heightened by the ache of unfulfilled arousal. 

The distinctive chime of a loosened belt buckle rang loud in her ears, as did the rustling of fabric that followed- and his lips were at her ear, nuzzling and nipping at the shell. She sighed, tilting her chin just enough to give him access, and felt his fingers tug her hair to one side so he could place another kiss behind her earlobe before his hand settled on her bare flank. 

Her shoulders heaved with shaking breaths. 

“You... don’t have to ask me, you know.” 

“I know.” She inhaled sharply when she felt him nudge at her entrance, heavy and thick, gliding through the wet heat of her lower lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“I-”

“Go on.”

She didn’t give a damn for her dignity, not right now. Not when it was just the two of them like this, not when she knew Nero would take care of her no much how much he (gently) bullied her. In the end, she trusted him. 

It was a dance, this give-and-take that always balanced itself in the end. An equal exchange.

“I want _you_ ,” she rasped. “Please.”

The words emerged as a thin, trembling whisper, almost a plea. She waited, wondering if he’d demand more, and could have cried with relief when his pleased hum buzzed against her neck and she felt pressure between her legs, the sharp and briefly uncomfortable burn even through her wetness as his girth stretched her.

She lowered her elbows, then tilted her head forward until her brow rested on the cool surface of the table, grounding herself through her own harsh and rattling breaths. It was almost too much. The angle of his entry combined with the tilt of her hips made her feel as though she’d been speared straight to her core, and he just seemed to _keep going_ , hells, it _almost_ hurt, but she felt _so full_ like this-

“Aurelia.” The rasp of her name, laced with worry. He’d finally stopped; his hips sat flush with hers and his breathing was near as heavy. She looked down at the slender fingers splayed upon the table’s surface, close to her own, then over her shoulder to look him in the eye. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she panted. She wasn't, not yet, but she would be. "Just give me a minute."

The look he gave her from lust-darkened blue eyes was scrutinizing... and then his smirk, cool and challenging, returned in full force. 

"I can stop here if it's too much for you to handle."

 _"Nero Scaeva,_ if you _dare_ refuse me your cock after all that, I will _strangle you with your own toolbelt-”_

His breath huffed against her mouth. 

“A tempting offer,” he drawled, “if I might be so bold.”

“-and _furthermore,_ we both know no jury in the land would convict me.”

“Threats of asphyxiation aside, far be it from me to refuse you aught--” his hips flexed and she felt the fullness within her shifting by ilms, an experimental push and pull, _“--eikon-slayer.”_

The forceful thrust that followed all but knocked the breath from her lungs. Aurelia bit out a choked curse, her nails digging small furrows into the table for purchase. His lips pressed against her nape and she felt them curve with mirth- and no remorse whatsoever.

He was a demon. A voidsent summoned from the depths of the seven hells to torment her specifically. She would have said as much, but he had started to move and all she could manage was a high-pitched whimper.

Face buried in her arms once more, elbows down and forehead pressed against natural ridges and cool varnish, she could hear little over the loud and wet rasp of her own attempts to breathe. She arched her back and canted her hips backwards to meet him, the table rattling in tandem with each thrust. Nero hadn’t loosened his grip: one hand still held steady at her flank; she could feel his fingertips curling, digging into her skin as he fucked her. The other was still braced against the table and without thinking she reached for it to thread his fingers through hers, incongruous tenderness in the heat of coupling.

“I missed you,” she squeezed and felt his fingers tighten in response, “ _gods_ , I missed you _terribly-_ ”

His breath caught. She felt the renewal of those soft bites against her neck, sharp little pinpricks contrasted against the hot and ceaseless friction he created within her.

He tugged his hand loose from her grasp and slid it off the table, reaching beneath their joined bodies, and Aurelia whined between clenched teeth when he cupped the damp curls between her legs. The slow circular strokes of his fingers rendered the heat in her belly bright and immediate, as if someone had turned the indicator dial on a ceruleum stove to its highest setting.

“Come for me, sweetling,” he breathed in her ear, as relentless above as below; she could feel the return of that tension, coiling tight and unbearable, an overtaxed spring- “Let me hear you.”

Her climax was upon her, light and gold in her veins. 

She cried out to the heavens, a high and keening wail. Somewhere in the haze that dulled her senses she thought she heard a deeper cry as he answered in kind, but in that moment she could not have said if it was real or simply a flight of fancy. 

His weight did return to her back after a time, gently. She could hear his ragged breathing in her ear, and her own soft gasps, and the reedy creak of the table protesting their combined weight. ‘Twas either a testament to superior carpentry or superior engineering that the godsdamned thing hadn’t broken underneath her in the middle of it all.

Rough stubble dragged back and forth over her bite-marked neck as he nuzzled her. His fingers had left her core to trail lazy patterns along the outline of her thigh. 

“So,” Nero murmured, "I know it's a funny little Eorzean custom, but I find myself more fond of - Valentione's? - with each passing year."

She froze in dismay. 

“What?”

“Hm? Did I not say it correctly?”

“No, not-...That was _today?_ ”

“I thought that was why you were coming home tonight.”

“Oh _no_ ,” groaned the Warrior of Light, and this time she was burying her face in her arms for a wholly different reason. _Gods damn me for a forgetful fool_. “I didn’t get you _anything-_ ”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” She didn’t have to see his smirk, not when she could hear it in his voice. “ ‘Tis not every day my objectively terrifying better half arrives home unannounced and lets me have my wicked way with her- with _minimal_ complaint.” 

Aurelia managed a shaky, embarrassed laugh. He kissed her cheek before bracing his hands on the table and shifting his hips, and she grimaced at the wet slide and the sense of emptiness and burgeoning soreness that followed close behind. Immediately she cupped herself with one hand, not that it was terribly helpful; they had made a mess regardless.

"I’ll clean up in here and see to the stew,” he said. "Go bathe. I'll have it ready by the time you're out."

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.” She gave him a doubtful stare, looked down at her feet as she righted herself- and started to laugh helplessly. “What?”

“My blasted smalls were stuck about my ankle this _whole time._ ” She snatched them quickly up her legs with a loud and nasal snicker. “...Seven hells, I’m so glad you aren’t a historian. You’d include _all_ the embarrassing details-”

“Naturally. ‘The mighty Warrior of Light sauntered with ethereal grace towards the water closet, soiled underthings clinging about the divine ankle of her radiant personage’-”

“Oh, _stop_. Go see to the Valentione’s dinner. The one the glorious champion of Eorzea bloody well _forgot_.”

"Along with her smallclothes-"

_"Nero!"_

His laughter followed her down the hallway as she scraped together what remained of her clothing and made her way to the bathroom.

Her dignity- well. The less said about _that_ , the better.

~*~

Later that night as they lay in close and comfortable silence - having partaken of multiple helpings of stew, homemade chocolates, and each other - Nero felt a stirring from the soft, warm weight pillowed upon his bare chest. Aurelia’s hand had drifted to his side, over the long scar that curved about his midsection to taper near his navel.

He thought he spoke her name but it came out as a vague and sleep-heavy rumble.

“It’s healed cleanly.” Her fingertips traced it, the legacy of a misadventure that had nearly ended his life, never mind his career. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Hm? Of course not.”

“Good.” She seemed satisfied with that response, dark blue eyes drifting shut again- only to flicker half-open a beat later. “...Nero?”

“Yes?”

There was a long silence, followed by a question murmured on the edge of sleep:

“When I’m gone... do you miss me?”

He paused for long moments to consider the question, fingers idling in the trails they made upon the surface of her shoulder. Time was such a strange thing, really. Three years ago he would have cursed her name if he thought of her at all, and now... now his thoughts were oft as not filled with the memory of lavender and the clean cut-grass scent of the open road. 

Home. 

He smiled, knowing she couldn’t see it in the dark, and buried his face in her hair.

“Terribly,” Nero Scaeva said.

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to yell at me for my crimes against writing or simply meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD


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